


Paper: canvas, airplanes, hearts

by amelioratedays



Category: GOT7
Genre: Hinted Markbum, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 19:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5597950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amelioratedays/pseuds/amelioratedays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty-one, is the age that Jinyoung meets Jackson and realizes that they come from different worlds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper: canvas, airplanes, hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Jinsonology fic fest, of baseball player!Jackson and Artist!Jinyoung who go through trials of trying to understand one another.

It’s Jinyoung’s last year in college—where everyone’s rushing to enter the industry and settle on something that will likely embark into a career, where everyone’s been parched dry by the past three years of higher education—that Jackson transfers into his school. It’s strange, Jinyoung thinks when he catches chatter about the new transfer student from Hong Kong—the supposed sports prodigy who was recruited into their school’s baseball team the moment he stepped onto campus. Strange—not because of how quickly the new student is able to be so popular in such a short time, but more because there’s a transfer student first semester of their last year. He had voiced this to Jaebum once, over late night dinner at the nearby diner. Because, really, who would want to transfer the year they’re supposed to be planning futures and getting everything ready to enter society. So why? What is it exactly that had led to the other male uplifting familiarity and roots to come into a whole new setting at such an important stage in life.  


“You’re thinking too much into it,” Jaebum had told him, obnoxiously gulfing down his omelette. He continues, mouth still full of food. “Besides, when have you,” he points to Jinyoung with his fork only to have to slapped aside by Jinyoung, “cared much for other people?” He finishes, returning to put another forkful of omelette in his mouth. Jinyoung grimaces at the unruly sight, pushing a napkin over for Jaebum to wipe the oil off of his lips. “First of all,” he says “I’m not thinking too much. You’re thinking too little.” A pointed pause. “Second of all. I’ve always been compassionate, you’re just prejudiced against me.” The older male snorts, and Jinyoung only frowns further at the sight. “You? Compassionate?” Jinyoung hums affirmatively and Jaebum only laughs, playing along.

 

“So how are things going with you and Mark?” Jinyoung asks, poking around at his scrambled eggs.

 

“Same old, same old.” Jaebum replies. “We’re both mostly freelancing for now, but I think Mark’s going to get signed onto a firm soon.”

 

“Oh,” Jinyoung says with interest.

 

“He worked with them last month on a last minute project someone else dropped, and they liked his designs and ideas. They’ve met up a few times after for contract details.” The slight scraping of the metal fork against the ceramic plate interrupts their conversation but Jaebum continues after he finishes swallowing the last bits of his food. “It’s a good company, with a good amount of publicity and enough capital to carry out the more ambitious floor plans that Mark designs.”

 

“You?”

 

“I’ve been writing a few articles here and there, and sending out transcripts. But it’s the same struggle—it’s hard finding a place that suits you. It’s more about you suiting them.” Jinyoung nods, because when has the mere worker successfully overcome the system?

 

And such a thought only reinforces his earlier thoughts—because in a perfectly rationalized world, why would someone have the time to diverge and study abroad when they should be finding ways to integrate themselves into the system? The first thought that Jinyoung properly forms about Jackson Wang is that he can’t understand him—nor should he have enough energy to try and do so.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It’s hard to miss Jackson, with the amount of energy he exudes (and also usurps from others) and three lectures into the semester, Jinyoung feels as if he’s aged three months. They only share one class—Art Therapy—which Jinyoung was taking for his major and Jackson was taking for his designated study. Every class without fail, Jinyoung can hear an accented voice asking a multitude of questions tangential to their syllabus. His enthusiasm is enough to make up for the half of the class whose still functioning on autopilot—sensory neurons asleep 8AM in the morning. It’s perplexing, and Jinyoung finds himself too wary of the foreign student—because unlike the usual rambunctious few who ask questions simply for the sake of deterring focus, Jackson seems genuinely curious, with a tinge of naivety and innocence that leaves Jinyoung at a loss for words. Where he can’t wrap his mind over how this image of Jackson trying so hard in his studies collides with his initial perception of him.

 

This thought lingers with him throughout the day as he slips into Jaebum’s office—pushing the older male out of his chair and sitting in it instead. The old swivel chair creaks as he sits, sprawling his upper body on the desk. Jaebum looks at him with an annoyed look, salvaging the mess of papers crushed under Jinyoung’s arms. “You’re thinking way too much, your forehead’s going to stay creased at this point.” He muses as Jinyoung swats at his arms, hoarding the papers from Jaebum’s reach.

 

“I just don’t understand,” he huffs, looking over the drafts on the table. He doesn’t clarify, doesn’t need to when he’s been around Jaebum for so long. And the slight distaste in the way he says _understand_ click the gears in place.

 

“I don’t understand either—why you’re suddenly trying so hard to comprehend others. Hasn’t it always been others fitting you?“ Jaebum really doesn’t understand, but then again, Jinyoung doesn’t have answers either on why his mind is wandering to things he shouldn’t care about.

 

“Honestly, if you’re so curious, why don’t you just talk to him?”

 

“I _don’t_ want to talk to him.”

 

“Do you want me to do it?” Jaebum replies nonchalantly, shooing Jinyoung away from his work only for the other to freeze.

 

“Wait." Jinyoung says slowly. "You know him?”

 

“Correction,” The older male replies, “ _Mark_ knows him, and I’ve only seen him once.”

 

“Mark-hyung?” Jinyoung questions, rejecting the notion of closing distances.

 

“Yeah, they’re apparently family friends or something.” The conversation closes, and neither Jinyoung nor Jaebum bring up the topic of Jackson between them after. It’s unsettling, Jinyoung thinks, when things he’s supposed to keep at a distance venture too close to his domain. Perhaps, Jaebum is right—he _is_ thinking too much. There’s an approximate seven billion people on earth—so _why_ was it that he’s pondering over imminent differences.

 

“You can’t expect everyone to be just like you.” His mother had told him once—and though he has recited the phrase so, _so_ many times, he still finds himself thinking too much about himself and too little of others. Theory of Mind must have never properly developed in his childhood, and more often than not, he finds himself lost—unable to understand viewpoints and actions that run perpendicular to his own. Yet, the more he attempts to understand, the more he finds himself straying on trying to realize _why_ he needs to (wants to) understand.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Jaebum takes him out one day on the notion of socializing, much to Jinyoung’s distaste. He isn’t one for crowds—let alone one in a club where music is too loud and people are too close. The impounding beat of the bass seems to move within his mind, and Jinyoung feels the slight headache that begins to form. He’s a fish out of water, and he only looks at Jaebum with a glare.

 

“I’m _dying_ ,” he says with exaggerated enunciation. The older male returns his statement with a dismissive expression. It’s not as if he _doesn’t_ know that the raven haired male is only trying to help him—and that he should make more of an effort trying to build connections. (because what _else_ was it that would allow him to embark his career post-graduation?) He wasn’t naive enough to believe that hard work and talent was all that would bring good results—at least, that isn’t what brought food to the dinner table. It’s something that he is aware of, but no matter how logically he tries to process such a thought, Jinyoung finds himself pushing the notion to the back of his mind—where he tries to believe that he can deal with it later. He can cross the bridge when he gets there, though Jaebum begs to differ.

 

He doesn’t need to ponder upon it much to know that there’s a handful of well-influential people in the room; Jaebum wouldn’t have dragged him here otherwise. But there’s a barrier (lack of motivation) that stops from taking the necessary step—and he uselessly wonders, whether it really is _that_ necessary. (It is, he knows.) Jaebum means well—doesn’t want him to take the same twist and turns in society that the older male has taken—but the stubborn will inside him doesn’t want to bend for society’s norms and networks.

 

And when Jaebum walks off, Jinyoung worms his way to the corner of the room, settling on an empty table and slowly tasting whatever drink Jaebum had ordered for him before—bittersweet liquid rolling off his taste buds. It’s not strong enough to buzz out the noises in the background, and Jinyoung grimaces when he finds that the alcohol simply enhances sounds one by one—echoing within his cephalic cavity. There’s a ruffling of noises as people settle on the adjacent table, coupled with chatter that seems to crawl upon Jinyoung’s skin. He doesn’t have to turn to recognize the laughter, high pitched tone prickling at his eardrums. He isn’t that surprised to see him here, seeing how well his personality fits within the atmosphere.

 

It’s a new experience, in the way that he’s being exposed to a new side of the other boy—and Jinyoung resists the urge to roll his eyes at the bits and pieces of conversation that he picks up. There’s a slight relief that settles on his shoulders when he realizes that he _didn’t_ really want to get to know Jackson, but there’s also a feeling of discomfort that slides under his skin in how maybe he really is too naive, too easy to trust in the good of people on first glance. The idea doesn’t sit well, manifesting in his brain like small seedlings that he’s watering with alcohol—blooming toxic flowers.

 

Maybe Jaebum was right and he _is_ thinking too much, or maybe it’s just the alcohol that’s amplifying useless thoughts circulating in his mind. But the negativity seems to pool itself in his veins and the overtly loud comments he catches from the Jackson’s table doesn’t help to remedy the situation. Nor does it help the growing headache that diffuses through his neurons.

 

“Can’t you shut up for _once_?” He thinks when the ruckus heightens in volume, tugging slightly at his hair as he covers his eyes with his palm. It should strike him as strange when it _does_ quiet down—and the tangential voices stop, leaving only the background noise—a muffled cacophony.

 

Jackson’s eyes are on him when he lifts up his head, catching his gaze as Jinyoung recognizes something akin to “hurt” underlying the other’s kohl orbs. His own eyes widen in return as he panics. _Had he just muttered his thoughts aloud?_ The question races through his head and he doesn’t have to ponder much to know that yes, he had. It’s unlike him—and he blames the alcohol running through his veins, blames the thoughts running through his neurons, blames Jaebum for ever bringing him here in the first place. (Though when he thinks about it later at night, too awake to fall asleep, he also blames Jackson for suddenly invading his mind.)

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs—sound barely coming out of his larynx before he grabs his coat and makes his way towards the exit—pushing his way through the crowd of people. He stumbles through, lack of fresh air slowly suffocating him until he finally pushes the door open and steps onto the sidewalk. The night wind is chilly but it’s oxygen that he needs—clearing his mind and filling his lungs as he expels stale air. The flicker of sadness in Jackson’s eyes seem to burn themselves into his retinas and Jinyoung shakes his head, pinching his nose bridge before he walks down the grey cement. “Yeah,” he figures, “I’m thinking too much.” and the moon overhead lights the road home—his shadow dancing upon asphalt.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It’s unsettling, the amount of attention that Jackson draws upon himself just by _being_ —where everyone finds themselves turning their eyes and ears towards the foreign male. And there’s a reluctance that Jinyoung feels when he realizes that he’s just the same—and he can’t exactly pinpoint just _what_ it was about the brunette male that he ponders so much on. It’s useless thoughts—because there’s no need for him to contemplate so much. They’re barely acquainted and after the previous night—Jinyoung’s sure that any impression he’s made was nowhere close to favourable. But there’s a part of him wanting to create a favourable impression on the other male that underlies his thoughts—and it creates a weird endless pit in his stomach, a sickly feeling that feels as if he’s walking on a wavering bridge—insecure and anxious.

 

In all logic, Jinyoung knows himself well enough to know that he doesn’t determine self worth by external factors. He’s lived up to now without caring much about other’s opinions. Jaebum’s commented on it more than once, voicing that Jinyoung walks around exuding a feeling of distance. At times it even seems like a feeling of superiority, where he can’t be bothered to care about anyone else but himself. It’s a protective mechanism—quilting himself with spines so that no one comes close enough to hurt. But when it comes to Jackson, Jinyoung doesn’t understand _why_ he wants a certain amount of approval and interest from the other. Nor does he fully understand why there’s a certain pull from the Hong Kong male that makes him want to take a step closer without really moving at all.

 

They’re different in almost every way, and Jinyoung is well aware of the clashing differences between what he considers his lifestyle and what he observes from Jackson’s actions. Yet, he can’t help but _want_ to enter such a world despite their discrepancies. Jackson’s seemingly toxic to him, crawling under his skin simply by _existing_ and Jinyoung wants to reciprocate such a feeling. Though at the same time he doesn’t, and he knows that he should stop pondering on _maybe’s_ and _what-if’s_ while focusing back on his own life and self.

 

“Stop,” he says aloud, turning to his side and rearranging the blankets around him, “thinking.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
There’s an air of discomfort when he enters class the next day, slowly making his way to the seat in the back. The thought of confrontation lays in the back of his mind—but what really is there a confrontation for? He doesn’t really know, doesn’t want to know. They aren’t acquainted, haven’t _ever_ spoke properly to each other before, and the worst that he can imagine is an uncomfortable exchange of glances—brief albeit awkward.

 

But Jinyoung forgets that Jackson doesn’t follow the algorithm that he does—and he feels as if his stomach was digesting itself when Jackson seats himself, bypassing his usual seat in the front, into the chair adjacent to Jinyoung. For a moment, Jinyoung wonders if this was Murphy’s Law, holding onto his breath as he evades the constant looks that Jackson tosses over. It’s an uncomfortable hour and Jinyoung feels the cheeks of his face threatening to flush under the gaze of the Chinese male. Though he surprisingly suppresses the reaction by pure will power, focusing on the words in front of him.

 

Fortunately, there’s no room for conversation and Jinyoung keeps his neck stiff, only looking up at the board in front and down at his own notes. The second hand of his watch ticks on, and Jinyoung doesn’t know whether this was a countdown to liberation—or the detonation of a bomb. Either way, time is flowing out of his grasp no matter how tight his grip was. And when the minute hand stops momentarily on the number twelve, Jinyoung rummages his notes, packing them into his backpack while walking hastily to the door. He’s halfway out the door before he stuffs his headphones into his ear and pretends he doesn’t hear Jackson calling out his name behind him.

 

It’s petty, he thinks. But then again, he isn’t really the one in wrong. So when he quickens his steps, turning towards the exit—he misses the look of disappointment that reflects in Jackson’s eyes. It’s not the first time—a continuous event of the other night—where Jackson looks up to see the backside of the raven haired male. Where Jinyoung is, once again, fading out of Jackson’s vision—walking three steps for every one that Jackson takes. He can’t catch up.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Jinyoung’s in his studio—absentmindedly painting when Jackson steps in, breaking him from his thoughts. It doesn’t take long before the confused expression on his face morphs into a frown, and he places his brush on the easel, walking towards the door. “What are you doing here?” He questions, stopping the brunette at the doorway. “I—I wanted to talk.” He says with a faltering smile that Jinyoung doesn’t return.

 

“I didn’t mean _why_ you were here,, I meant why are you _here_?”

 

“I asked Mark where I’d find you and h—”

 

“—We have nothing to talk about.” Jinyoung snaps, regretting it slightly when Jackson flinches at his tone.

 

“Do I really bother you so much?” The other male asks, brows knitted.

 

“Yes.”

 

“We barely know each other!” He retorts, “what reason is there for my existence to bother you so much?” The variation of intonations in the other’s words akin to ocean tides—rising up and falling down at rapid speeds and force, where Jinyoung finds himself wavering. Because, he _doesn’t_ have a reason—but he can’t help but feel that Jackson is slowly breaking away the security he’s been building for so long. In such circumstances, he can’t help but dislike the way that he wants to  be liked by the other—and disliking Jackson himself, becomes a form of displacement for his own worries.

 

“Please leave,” Jinyoung pans, turning around after closing the door behind him.

 

He doesn’t continue his painting, sitting in front of the canvas as he mixes the paints on his palette until everything morphs into a murky brown—vibrant hues mixing together into a shade that’s similar to the taupe coloured thoughts in his mind.

 

Jinyoung knows that it’s unlike him to outrightly refute others but he’s never responded well to people coming into his studio without invitation. Even Jaebum knows better than to come over for a visit. There’s _something_ in the way that his creative space is invaded that sets off something in him. Everything here he’s built hand by hand, one stroke at a time—and as strenuous as it was for him to do so, it’s also filled with a fragility that a simple touch could break. He knows that it’s paranoia, too much obsession over a space that is only _his_ ; but he doesn’t want to let go. He lives with closed doors and closed windows—a glass bottle of emotions. (Nothing goes in, nothing escapes out.)

 

Jinyoung trusts his intuition—insight _must_ have been helpful for it to have passed so many years of natural selection. And his gut feeling tells him that Jackson is nothing good for him—that the slight quickening of his heartbeat only indicates danger. It’s a cautionary red that Jackson exudes—not warm, but a scalding hue.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Jinyoung doesn’t pay much attention Jackson much after; and Jackson doesn't seem to blatantly seek him out either.  Though he isn’t sure whether he was avoiding the other male or Jackson was avoiding him. Maybe it’s both, but he shouldn’t care. In fact, he should be glad that no one’s trying to bother him anymore. (Out of sight, out of mind. They say.)  But he when he turns to meet Jackson’s gaze one afternoon only to have the other male avoid his eyes, he can’t help but feel apologetic. Jackson seems subdued—more quiet and contemplative in a way that jabs at the edge of Jinyoung’s skin. Because now it seemed like he _was_ in wrong, and he should have known that outside the world of nursery rhymes, words _do_ hurt more than sticks and stones. But that’s only because Jackson has a weak ego, he tells himself—right?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Jaebum takes him to the school baseball game one day under Mark’s invitation and Jinyoung feels nothing but déjà vu of the time at the bar. There’s too many people, too much noise—though there is a slight breeze in the air and Jinyoung can actually breathe this time around. Jaebum’s by his side, noisily snacking on popcorn before the game even begins, much to his dismay. Jinyoung sighs, pulling his scarf higher up.

 

“I don’t like sports,” Jinyoung states, eyes focused somewhere in the distance.

 

“So? I do.” Jaebum replies as if he wasn’t lying.

 

“No you don’t.”

 

“Okay, but Mark does.”

 

“Hmm,” Jinyoung hums, holding back a yawn as he leans further back on his seat.

 

“Jackson’s playing today.” The older male says in a casual tone, as if he was commenting on the weather. But the casual tone doesn’t transition over to Jinyoung, and the phrase loops itself in his brain.

 

“Where’s Mark-hyung?” He asks, trying to change the subject of matter and thankfully, Jaebum complies.

 

“On his way.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Watching Jackson play is an unfamiliar experience to Jinyoung, where the other male seems almost like a stranger and Jinyoung can’t find a trace of the Jackson Wang _he_ knows. It’s different seeing Jackson so concentrated, a stark contrast to his usual joking character. And when the game continues, Jinyoung can’t help but solidify his belief that he doesn’t understand Jackson—or rather, he doesn’t _know_ Jackson. But one thing that stays consistent is the magnetic pull that the other male seems to exude, and even amidst the bustling crowd of players, he demands to be noticed. It’s difficult to do otherwise and Jinyoung finds his gaze following each and every move that Jackson makes in a seemingly spellbound way. And even when Jackson gazes up to meet his eyes, Jinyoung can’t find the power to look away. Even though he knows more than well enough that Jackson isn’t really looking at _him_ , and that the small wave the other gives was meant for Mark instead. Jinyoung keeps his hands within his pockets, moving his head so that his hair falls slightly past his eyes. And through veiled noir, he watches as Jackson runs across the field once again.

 

If Jackson was a cautionary red, Jinyoung thinks he’s already stepping past the yellow warning line.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
There’s something that changes after—in the way that Jinyoung wavers for a few seconds before breaking Jackson’s gaze. In the way that even after Jackson has turned the corner of the hallway, his image still lingers in Jinyoung’s mind. How when Jackson smiles at him one day, Jinyoung forgets that they _aren’t_ friends and smiles back. And judging from the way that Jackson’s eyes widened, he’s not the only one that is surprised by his actions.

 

Jackson is constantly a new canvas, a work in progress for Jinyoung where every stroke alters the previous. Yet, it always seems that Jackson is a never-ending art piece, where there’s always something missing (something _off_ ) that doesn’t allow for Jinyoung to claim it as finished. He makes minor changes, just like the way that Jackson learns to approach him with small steps. It’s amusing, how the boldness he’s observed for so long takes a careful and questioning tone.

 

He still doesn’t really understand anything about the Chinese male, but it bothers him less now. The difference between them settles into something that he’s slowly understanding that he can’t understand. Or at least, he doesn’t need to understand. So when Jackson offers to help him carry his new art supplies one day, Jinyoung accepts, placing one of the boxes in the other’s arms.

 

It’s a rather silent walk back to his studio, much to his surprise, and Jinyoung doesn’t miss the small gazes that Jackson throws at him. Nor does he miss how many times Jackson wants to start a conversation and fail to. It’s halfway back that Jinyoung decides that if the other doesn’t know how to start, maybe he should instead.

 

“I was at your last game.” He mentions. “I don’t know much, but you’re a good player.”

 

“How so?” The other asks and Jinyoung responds, recalling the game from before. “You play for the team, not yourself.” Jinyoung doesn’t expect the smile that blossoms on the other’s face, but then again, he’s figured that Jackson Wang was always someone that surpasses his expectations.

 

Talking about baseball seems to be the right topic, and Jackson easily glides through the topic excitedly. Jinyoung doesn’t really understand much, but the comforting pace and tone of Jackson’s voice settles nicely between his ears, travelling to his chest. Jackson has a warm voice, he thinks, one that stirs a comfortable warmth on his cheeks. He isn’t really listening to what Jackson is saying, but Jinyoung nods along—soft smile upon his lips.

 

Jackson steps promptly outside his studio this time, eyes wavering for a millisecond. “I’m sorry about last time.” He apologizes in a soft voice, just loud enough so that Jinyoung can catch his words and no one else. “Mark told me you didn’t like people entering your studio.” He continues.

 

“It’s okay.” Jinyoung decides, it’s been so long after all. “Thanks for helping me today.”

 

“No problem.” He responds with a smile.

 

“See you next time.”

 

“Bye.”

 

Jinyoung doesn’t invite him in, but neither does Jackson expect to enter. And when Jinyoung closes the door behind him, Jackson enters the elevator, softly humming to himself.

 

It’s a start, he decides.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“Haven’t you been interested in sports lately?” Jaebum muses, sitting down next to him on the bleachers. Jinyoung shrugs, pulling his scarf higher up. Autumn was slowly passing into winter, and the winds only get stronger as the leaves fall. “Mark-hyung asked us to come.” He comments.

 

“Bullshit, Mark’s been asking you to come for three years.”

 

Jinyoung shrugs again, not answering as he watches the students on the field practice. Mark is on the field as well, helping to coach the newer members. Jaebum shifts annoyingly closer to him, warm breath falling on his face as the older male speaks, “We both know you’re not here for Mark.”

 

“So?”

 

“ _So?_ ” Jaebum mocks, huddling closer, “So how are things with Jackson?” He inquires.

 

Jinyoung shrugs again, eyes following the brunette male running between bases. “I don’t know.” He says after a while, because truth be told, he really doesn’t. Jaebum doesn’t ask further, turning to face the field as the topic drops.

 

It’s not as if Jinyoung is unsure whether or not Jackson takes interest in him. He does, Jinyoung is certain. Rather, it’s whether Jackson’s interest in him is in the same way that he takes interest in Jackson. For this point, Jinyoung really doesn’t know. It’s the way that Jackson is an all-loving person that halts Jinyoung from drawing any conclusions. It's the way that Jackson, at times, seems all too naive, that makes Jinyoung think; maybe all Jackson wants to do is befriend him (and nothing more).

 

He can’t help but feel as if there’s still a wall between them two, a thick glass screen that isolates them. Jackson treats him as if he’s on display, and it’s more than once that Jinyoung feels they’re interacting with too many restrictions. At times it feels as if Jackson treats him like cracked glass, too wary of breaking him or hurting himself. On one hand, Jinyoung feels as if he _should_ understand, because they _aren’t_ the closest of friends (and are they even friends?). But on the other hand, Jinyoung knows that this is Jackson. Jackson Wang genuinely likes everyone, and devoids every one of personal space, whether it be physically or emotionally. So why was it, that Jinyoung doesn’t fit in Jackson’s “everyone”?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It’s a gloomy day that Jinyoung asks Jackson, the sky outside full of clouds and void of colour, threatening to rain upon earth. Jinyoung thinks that it’s quite reflective of his own mood. Jackson had dragged him to the campus cafe after class, and there they sat—the steam from the coffee slightly fogging up the lenses of Jackson’s glasses. There’s not a lot of people here at this time, but the quietness happens to prick at Jinyoung’s senses today.

 

“Say,” Jinyoung starts as he puts down his cup of coffee, “Why don’t you treat me like you do with your other friends?” He doesn’t look at Jackson, staring at the table between them instead.

 

“You..” Jackson pauses, turning his head to a slight angle while he searches for the right words.

 

“I? What?”

 

“You..don’t seem like you want to be treated like others.”

 

“What do you mean?” Jinyoung asks, brows furrowing.

 

“I mean,” Jackson sighs, turning his cup of coffee, “don’t you not like my lifestyle?” He continues when Jinyoung only looks at him confusedly. “You don’t like crowds, don’t like sports and you don’t like jokes.” It's been more than once that the younger male has emphasized the differences in their actions and lifestyles. It doesn't take much for Jackson to pick up the meaning of such words.

 

“So...” Jinyoung searches for the right phrase, “you think I’m boring?”

 

“No!” The other male half shouts, almost spilling his drink as he tries to defend himself. The barista from the cafe glances in their direction and Jinyoung gives an apologetic smile. “You’re not boring. You’re just...different.”

 

“Different?” Jinyoung raises his brow for clarification.

 

“Like..” The Chinese male scrunches up his face, mussing up his hair in frustration—he’s never been good at expressing himself correctly. “..’different’ as in, ‘I don’t know’, you know?”

 

“...No?”

 

“As in I don’t think I ever know what you’re thinking and how to approach you. Sometimes I feel like you’re always so _distant_ , building a fence around yourself but your eyes…” He pauses, catching a breath. “your eyes, they’re so.. _warm_ , but so lonely at the same time. I want to approach you but I can’t tell if you’re walking away or letting me come closer. You know?” He ends with a soft shrug, but the wavering of his eyes lets Jinyoung know that such a confession (was it?) wasn’t easy for Jackson to let out.

 

“Oh.”

 

“So,” Jackson says. “Do you want me to come closer? or walk away?” Now that he’s already stepped into the ocean, he might as well submerge in it—

 

—or not.

 

Grabbing his bag, Jackson stumbles out of the cafe booth, stuttering while he puts on his coat. “I-I-I don’t need an answer right away, just t-think about it, okay? See you.” And before Jinyoung is able to register anything, he glances up to see Jackson running down the hallway, disappearing around the corner. “Oh,” he thinks, a small flame igniting within his mind.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“So you’re telling me that you chickened out after a proposal?” Mark asks, ripping apart the ramen packet and dumping the powder into the cardboard bowl. Jackson doesn’t answer, pulling his hood past his face instead. Pouring the hot water into the bowl, Mark settles his breakfast on the kitchen table. “ _Wang Jia Er_ ,” The older male says in false seriousness, “I can now pass along the nickname of ‘Little Chicken’ to you, _Wang Xiao Ji_. [1]”

 

“Fuck you. What kind of friend are you?” Jackson snarls.

 

“A good one if I managed to stay your friend for so many years.” Mark mumbles, opening the cupboard for a pair of chopsticks. “I should get an award for having the best patience.”

 

“ _Duan Xiao Ji—_ ”

 

“ _Wang Xiao Ji._ ” Mark corrects, cooling down his noodles. Jackson frowns, grabbing the bowl for himself and taking a bite of the noodles. The Taiwanese male only sighs, standing up to get another bowl.

 

“What should I do? _Ge **[2]**_ , you have to help me!”

 

“It’ll be fine. I’m sure he likes you too.” Mark reassures.

 

“ _How_ are you sure?”

 

“He comes to your baseball practices!”

 

“ _You_ asked him to go! and all he ever does there is talk to Jaebum-hyung.” He defends.

 

“I’ve been asking him to come before Jaebum and I graduated and he hasn’t come once.”

 

“So?” Jackson asks, voice raising in volume.

 

“So shh!” Mark shushes, hitting the back of Jackson’s hand with his chopsticks.

 

“I—”

 

“—Shh.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Jackson Wang is a confident person—but he’s also someone who knows limits. It’s not like he _doesn’t_ know that they live different lifestyles, but there’s also nothing that explicitly states “different” means “clashing”. And if he’s willing to bend and conform, then it’s possible for them to coexist. But when Jinyoung cautiously avoids him for the next few times they meet, there’s a small voice within him that tells him to take a hint. He’s expected this, he reassures himself. Yet, no matter how many times he prepares himself for the fall, the contact with the hard floors below still hurt enough. There’s a small thud in his chest when he looks up for the fifth time since practice started, and the seat next to Jaebum is still empty. The messages in his phone are similarly, still unanswered.

 

Jackson doesn’t quite understand—but then again, he doesn’t think logic works when it comes to Park Jinyoung. He was sure that Jinyoung _didn’t_ dislike him, at least not now. Annoying at times, but if so, why had Jinyoung gone along with so many meetings and conversations that he could’ve easily avoided. Had the other been putting up with him all along? The thought disheartens him, though it only frustrates him more to think that Jinyoung would pretend to like him out of politeness. He doesn’t strike Jackson as such a person—but he also very clearly knows that he _doesn’t_ know Jinyoung well, and that even if he was such a person, he wouldn’t know it.

 

The thoughts cloud around his mind and glaze over his vision one too many times, and as he’s running for third base, the clouds are dense enough to shower over his brain. And as lightning strikes the axons of his nerves, he short-circuits—falling over as he reaches out to break his fall. The impact the dirt ground makes, no matter how he prepares for it, is still as painful as ever. Though, the empty suffocation in his chest seems to numb the searing of his limbs. It’s mere moments before the others are running to his side. Mark is the first to enter his vision and he only stays still on the ground, eyes staring into the sky.

 

“ _Ge_ ,” he whispers. “My heart hurts.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Of all things that Jackson _does_ expect, what he doesn’t expect is for Jinyoung to call him. So when he picks up his phone, he nearly drops it when he finally registered what the name on his screen was. He’s still scathed, wounds in the midst of healing under bandages, and Jackson has to will himself to stay still enough to not reopen such wounds. And of all answers that Jackson expects, what he doesn’t expect is to have no answer at all. Jackson doesn’t like talking in circles, doesn’t feel comfortable with the way Jinyoung makes sure to shift the topic everywhere but where Jackson wants it to be.

 

“Jinyoung!” he interrupts, and the line goes silent, a soft buzzing filling his ear. “Don't..you have an answer for me?” He asks impatiently, turning around roughly on his bed.

 

“I..thought about it for a while.” Jinyoung says softly, voice melodious even though Jackson thinks there’s a bitterness in his words that might break him further. “and..I don’t really know either.”

 

“You don’t _know_?”

 

“It’s like how you don’t understand me, I don’t really understand you either. And it’s just that I don’t _know_ whether I _like_ you or I just want to _understand_ you, you know? That whether or not the way you’re catching my attention is romantically based or just of curiosity and the fact that I don’t _like_ being not able to understand things.”

 

“And?” Jackson prones, because now it’s him that doesn’t understand.

 

“So I don’t know.” Jinyoung stresses, tone lowering more than usual.

 

“Doesn’t that just mean we should give it a try? Why are you perplexed?” Jackson questions, sitting up hurriedly.”Why are you always so quick to shut things out instead of giving it a chance?”

 

“I—”

 

“—No, that’s the thing. It’s like every time I try to take a step closer to you, you take two steps back.” He continues, letting out all the frustration that’s been clouding on his mind. Maybe he’ll come to regret such words, but he’s never been good at holding back his emotions. It’s not like Jackson doesn’t know he’s poking at soft spots, but when Jinyoung lives with spiked armour, he doesn’t know if there’s another way to finally confront the subject.

 

“Not everyone has your courage, you know?” Jinyoung’s voice softly sounds from the other end of the line.

 

“Has anyone ever told you that you think too much?” Jackson muses. “Life’s too short for all thought and no action.”

 

“Has anyone ever told _you_ that you think too little?” The younger of the two responds, though his tone is noticeably lighter and Jackson smiles. “Nope.” He replies.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Seeing Jackson after is a seemingly new experience, though, it’s probably only due to the fact that accepting the notion of _liking_ Jackson (who likes him back) settles uncomfortably with Jinyoung. The label gives him a new perspective to survey and interpret all of the latter’s actions. At the same time, it finally gives meaning to past interactions and intentions. Though, Jinyoung still feels as if they’re in a testing stage—transitioning but not yet _there_. How far from the finish line? Jinyoung really isn’t sure. Are they heading towards the finish line at all? He doesn’t know either. Though one thing he knows is that, they’re both trying.

 

Clashing.

 

Falling.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Jackson likes expressing his feelings, at times, too often. Jinyoung seems to be on the opposite side of the spectrum. They (mainly, Jackson) have brought it up once;  
  
  
_“Why don’t you express yourself more?”_

 

_“I don’t feel a need to,” Jinyoung replies, head still buried in the novel he’s been reading for the past week._

 

_“But don’t you think that you should let people know your feelings? Don’t you think you should share such things with people close to you?”_

 

_Jinyoung shrugs, folding the corner of the page and settling the book on the table. “Words are important, but that doesn’t mean they should be let out so easily.”_

 

_“But—”_

 

_“—Besides, people close to me should know how I feel without me voicing it.”_

 

_Jackson frowns, arms reaching out to hold onto Jinyoung’s hand. “But how am I supposed to know that what I think you’re feeling is correct?”_

 

 _“Ask me, I’ll tell you.” The brunette responds, drumming his fingers on Jackson’s inner wrist. “Isn’t that the point of getting to know one another?”_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Jinyoung doesn’t know whether he’s beginning to _know_ Jackson, or that the more he’s around him, the more that he’s unable to. There’s too many layers, too many sides of him that only adds to the enigma that he is. He’s unable to sum him up at all—except for the notion that Jackson Wang is Jackson Wang.

 

One thing that Jinyoung is grateful for; however, is the way that Jackson doesn’t pull him along the road but slows down his footsteps so that they can walk at the same pace. Jinyoung doesn’t fit within Jackson’s lifestyle nor does Jackson force him to do so. Similary, Jinyoung doesn't want to coerce Jackson to integrate with his hobbies and solitude. "Sometimes it doesn’t seem as if you’re dating at all.” Jaebum’s commented once or twice, but Jinyoung doesn’t see the strangeness of it all. “He needs time with people, I need time alone.” He had replied, dismissing the older male. Everyone’s got their own method of life after all, and Jinyoung doesn’t see the need to comply with anyone else’s norms and expectations.

 

It’s hard not to fall in love with Jackson Wang, Jinyoung realizes soon enough, with the way that Jackson loves by giving and not receiving. There’s often an unanswered question of whether Jinyoung is just too cold, or whether Jackson was just too warm. Jinyoung knows that it’s a little of both, and there’s a small part of him that wants to hold Jackson’s warmth by himself.

 

Though he knows, and the world as well, that Jackson isn’t one to be contained. You can’t defend yourself from him, and neither can you keep him restrained. Jackson seemingly infiltrates his life in ways that he doesn’t understand—until one day he’s suddenly lost in a mass of thoughts of _us_ and not _I._ And in the midst of exploring and understanding, Jinyoung wonders if he and Jackson are truly that different at all.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_“What are you working on?”_

 

_“Something for the graduation art show.” Jinyoung says, picking out the colours of paint he needed and placing it in the basket._

 

_“You already have an idea?” Jackson asks curiously, helping to hold the other handle of the basket. Jinyoung hums in response, shifting the basket to his other hand so that he could stand closer to the other male. “You.” He says with a soft smile, fringe softly falling past his eyes as he looks up from the shelves to meet Jackson’s eyes._

 

_“Me?” Jackson asks to which Jinyoung only nods._

 

 _“Let’s go,” Jinyoung sing-songs, tugging on the basket handle as he heads towards the cashier._ _—_ _“Are you ever going to show me what you’re working on?” Jackson asks, as Jinyoung hurriedly throws a blank sheet over his canvas. “You’ll see at the show!” He responds, shooing the other male away from his works. Jackson sighs, letting Jinyoung push him to the other side of the room, “How can you tell me that you’re painting me and not let me see it?”_

 

_“Then there’s no surprise.” The brunette says exasperatedly._

 

_“Then at least tell me your concept,” He states, not giving up._

 

 _“You really want to know?”_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The second time that Jackson steps within Jinyoung’s studio is on the fourth day of spring. Though this time around, the opening of the wooden door brings a certain weight on his shoulders now that he knows what stepping into such a room means. It feels as if he’s returning to the past and stepping around Jinyoung in cautious ways, too wary of each and every thing in the room and what meaning it holds. In a way it feels surreal, that after so many attempts that he’s finally stepping into parts of Jinyoung’s heart. Jinyoung lives like he’s within a glass bottle—transparent but isolated—and knowing that he’s somehow intruded past such barriers both fascinates and scares Jackson. The second time that Jackson steps away from Jinyoung’s studio, he leaves with a small boulder in his heart that weighs it down.

 

Perhaps he really does act more than he thinks, Jackson thinks as he crosses another day off the calendar of his dorm wall. How should he bring it up? _When_ should he bring it up? Jackson really doesn’t know, but the one thing he knows is that flowers are bound to wilt, seasons are bound pass. Picking up a baseball from his table, he tosses it idly in the air, watching as it comes back down with equal force. The higher you fly, the harder the fall.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_“You know how life is never constant? How light always refracts into so many colours?”_

 

_“And?”_

 

_“I used to think that in life, your Self is the only constant. But is it?”_

 

_“Is it not?”_

 

_“If I’m constant, then are you not? If you are constant, then am I? Doesn’t it all just come down to perspectives? Of which ‘self’ we present to others?”_

 

_“So are we all constant? or are we all variables?”_

 

“ _Isn’t this us though? How we keep on trying to understand each other but it still seems that we can never truly do so?”_

 

_“Do you think you can understand me now?”_

 

_“Isn’t the answer that it doesn’t matter?”_

 

 _“Is it?”_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It’s a Friday afternoon that Jinyoung finishes the last portrait to his series of paintings, demounting the canvas from his easle and lining the painting  in the right place so that the image morphs with his other portraits. He’s adding another layer, another colour as it overlays the previous portraits. It’s also a Friday afternoon that Jackson finally books his plane ticket back to Hong Kong—crosses another day off his calendar, closes the door behind him as he sets off for Jinyoung’s studio. The snow has barely melted, and the grounds still bare—spring has just begun. They’ve just barely stepped past the starting line.

 

Jinyoung opens the door with a smile, and maybe it’s just the way that the sun is stronger today that he seems more radiant—more warm—than ever. Maybe it’s the way that Jackson knows he’s walking on borrowed time that the smile seems to add to the weight in his chest. Should he not bring it up? _Can_ he not bring it up? If he does, will such a smile still last?

 

His steps upon the wooden floorboards sound with an empty thud, echoing within his mind—echoing his heartbeat. One step, two steps that he takes—one second, two seconds lost. Everything slowly comes to a halt, and Jackson thinks that even the rhythmic beating of his heart has stopped as well. He takes a small breath, hands still trembling.

 

“I’m going back soon.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Hong Kong.” He clarifies, voice barely audible if it weren’t for the silence in the room. Looking up at Jinyoung, he watches as the other’s eyes widen in confusion—watches as he slowly registers, understands, responds. “Hong Kong?”

 

“Home.” Jackson replies with a strained smile. Because really, where else is Hong Kong but “home”? He hasn’t ever thought about staying past the year, not when his past and future are all laid out in Hong Kong. Studying abroad had only been an experience, something that’s bound to fade into sepia memories. He’s young, he figures.

 

Youth _(love?)_ will fade with time.

 

“That’s right, home.” Jinyoung mutters. This— _them_ —wasn’t home. And the sudden realization that he hasn’t ever thought of something so evident and blatantly obvious brings a clench in his chest. It makes him feel naive, vulnerable even, that he’s so invested in _now_ that the hasn’t ever thought of what happens after. Of course Jackson isn’t going to stay with him forever—he has family, friends, and so many other things he has to return to. So why hasn’t he given thought about it at all? Why hasn’t Jackson brought it up to him? Was all this simply a fling that Jackson was going to leave behind?

 

“They’re recruiting for the national team next month. I have to go back by then.” Jackson says, reaching out for Jinyoung’s hand.

 

“When are you leaving?” Jinyoung asks softly.

 

“The Sunday after the art show.”  
  
  
_—_  
  
  
_“We’ll last, won’t we?”_

 

 _“Perhaps.”_  
  
  
—  
  
  
Perhaps.

 

Perhaps, because Jinyoung truly doesn’t know. Perhaps, they will last—overcome time and distance. Or perhaps, they won’t and things will slowly thin out into the past. Maybe one day Jackson will stop calling, or maybe it would be Jinyoung. But the thought that sits uncomfortably with him is that he now knows that Jackson won’t place romance over reality. But he knows that when it comes to him, he won’t either. And the more he ponders upon it, there doesn’t seem to be an answer.

 

He _doesn’t_ want Jackson to leave, but at the same time, Jackson won’t stay for him nor will Jinyoung leave for and with him. But for him to wait here until the 'right time', Jinyoung doesn’t know if he has the confidence. Does he want to try? He does. Yet, the trepidation of potentially losing Jackson in his life despite all attempts sets him in a place where he doesn’t know when and how to take his next step.

 

He likes Jackson, that Jinyoung is confident enough to say. But does he love him? If so, does he love him enough? He really isn’t sure And what about Jackson? Does he love _him_?

 

Or rather, what is love?

 

Jinyoung isn’t naive enough to think that love is giving up everything for one another. Life isn’t a tragic play, and the world only has so many pairs of star crossed lovers. Jackson won’t ask him to leave, neither does he expect Jinyoung to ask him to stay.

 

Jackson is simply asking him to wait.

 

How long and for what is he waiting for? Perhaps until he is able to cross over borders to Jackson, until Jackson does come back for him, or maybe until the passions of youth die out and they bury each other in their memories. What happens after?

 

Will things truly reconnect themselves as if miles of distances and the traces of time don't exist? Jinyoung doesn't have the confidence to say yes, nor does he have the courage that Jackson holds. Jackson loves almost equally, in broad ways that Jinyoung doesn't. If Jackson is one that spreads his affection, then Jinyoung is one to save all of his affection for one person. They have different stakes and Jinyoung knows that he can't afford to lose.

 

Maybe Jinyoung loves Jackson, but he also loves himself.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_“I just want to know if you're willing to wait for me.”_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It seems as if Jackson has always been the one waiting; waiting for Jinyoung to notice him, acknowledge him, answer him, accept him. He's been walking in small steps for so long—waiting for Jinyoung to finally open up a part his heart. He's already been waiting for so long, he doesn't mind waiting for longer. But Jinyoung? Jackson isn't sure if he's willing to be the one waiting.

 

And he knows that Jinyoung is aware of his thoughts. Otherwise he wouldn't have asked such a question. It's ironic, how Jinyoung has always been saying that they're from different worlds, that they won't ever understand each other. Jackson doesn't agree. No one understands them more than each other. It's just that they're both hoping to be each other’s exception. He wants Jinyoung to leave, Jinyoung wants him to stay.

 

They both want to love, rather—they both can't love.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Jackson can’t afford exceptions right now, he can’t let this chance slip by. Perhaps, love will return once again in the future, but _this_ wouldn’t. So he can’t understand why Jinyoung is failing to see from his perspective. Or was it that Jinyoung refuses to see from his perspective? It’s mostly the latter, he supposes when Jinyoung shows up at his dorm one night—dressed too thin even for the warming spring days.

 

It’s the way that Jinyoung hesitates to speak, fists held tight at his sides that Jackson knows exactly what he wants to say. And so, before he gives Jinyoung the chance to speak, he answers for him instead.

 

“I can’t.” He says, leaning back on the wall.

 

“Why?” Jinyoung asks, voice wavering.

 

“You know why, Jinyoung. This is a chance I can’t miss.”

 

“Can’t you just delay it for a year? For me?”

 

“And then? What about next year, would you tell me the same? And the year after that?” Jackson asks, voice rising in volume with every question. “You know that this is my dream, and that my wager is youth. This is a career that diminishes with time, I can only do this now.”

 

“So I’m not worth your youth?” Jinyoung asks back, voice sterner this time—full of thorns.

 

“I’m asking you to wait! We can wait, and when we’ve both embarked on careers, we can still come back to one another.”

 

“Wait for what? For you to forget me?!” Jinyoung shouts, shoving Jackson back into the cement wall. “You’ll go back and watch as feelings fade, you’ll meet new people and find another person you love that loves you.” He says, tears welling in his eyes no matter how much he tries to keep his facade. “But what about me? Who would love me? Why would anyone ever want to love someone like me?!” He’s tearing off his spikes, and with it the flesh and blood that connects them to his body. Jinyoung feels self-destructive; heart weary and eyes red.

 

“Park Jinyoung,” Jackson’s voice breaks the silence, “You keep saying that we don’t understand each other. But isn’t it just that you won’t try to understand me?”

 

“I—”

 

“—Isn't it just that you still don’t trust me? Trust that I love you? Or the way that you only trust yourself?” Jackson sighs, threading his fingers through his hair as he looks at the brunette male. “You can’t expect everyone to be like you.”

 

The night continues on, soft winds billowing under dark skies. There’s no stars visible in the city, and Jinyoung makes his way back on kohl roads. The world is as dark as his heart. There’s no light ahead.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Jackson doesn’t come to the art show, though Jinyoung isn’t sure whether he wants the Chinese male to come or not. What if he really isn’t coming? Was this really the end of their intersection point? But as he looks back at the paintings on exhibition, a feeling of irony overtakes him. Of course, Jackson wouldn’t want to come and witness such a scene. He’s been looking at him through layers, but has he ever tried to piece such layers together and view them all as one?

 

Does he really understand Jackson Wang? Jackson says he doesn’t. And the stubborn conclusion that he’s come to, the origin of all that stands in front of him—was it because that he truly thinks he _can’t_ see the other through? Or was it that he just refuses to do so? Why was it that he’s taken so many precautions and he’s still fallen into the pit that he’s been forewarned of so many times. In the end he had ultimately thought (or rather, he had wished) that Jackson would be someone like him—placed a bet that perhaps, Jackson would agree with what he decides. Though in the end, he had still bet on the wrong side. He had bet that Jackson loves him more than Jinyoung loves him, but perhaps, it had been a lost game from the start.

 

Twenty-one, they say, is the age of mazes. The age of exploration and at the same time, the age of being lost. Too many questions and too little answers—youth is only so many years in a lifetime. And it’s within these fleeting years that Jinyoung has to find himself. So how is he to search for someone else when he hasn’t found himself yet—Jinyoung doesn’t know. And whether he wants to continue searching, Jinyoung doesn’t have an answer either.

 

Just one last game, he figures. One last chance, he thinks as he sits upon his studio floor surrounded by endless images of the one person that has walked into his heart. Pitiful, he thinks, how hard he tried to keep this place to himself and how he’s only ended up filling it with traces of _him_. He’s the one digging the pit for himself to jump in. Idly tossing the baseball left behind in his hand, he wonders if he as well, will be left behind.

 

Closing his eyes, Jinyoung throws the ball across the room, letting it rebound back within his grasp.

 

_“Why is it that you’re always waiting for me to give in?”_

 

It comes back a thud, solid weight landing in his hand. Though it seems like the impact travels from his palm to his heart.

 

_“Is it that you love me or that you want to be loved?”_

 

He figures this is the way it is, and even if Jackson comes back to him like a ball he’s tossed out, he’ll only hit him back with the same force he’s thrown with. He’s reaping what he’s sown. Tightening his grip on the only memento he has left, it dawns on Jinyoung that this too, will be something he tosses away running towards home base. Everything is gained from what you lose.

 

And so, he lets go—watching as the baseball spiral into the cabinet—glass breaking into fragments. His microcosm is breaking down into shards under his own hands. Yet, even as he sits in the room of debris, broken glass, broken paintings (broken heart), it still doesn’t fully register that _this_ is truly the exiting stage of Jackson from his life. It’s the way that Jackson leaves Jinyoung’s life just as quietly as he entered that makes Jinyoung wonder if the past year had simply been a long dream. But even if he wakes up, Jinyoung feels as though this dream will continue to suffocate him, constantly circulating within his mind. Grazing his fingertips upon the linen canvas, he traces the golden hues of paint, runs his fingertips on the jagged edges of the torn paper—hands trembling as he blinks back the stinging sensation in his eyes.

 

Twenty-one, is the age of exploration, of losing his way, and finding himself. Twenty-one, in Jinyoung’s life, is also the age of heartbreak.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It’s only after so many years that Jinyoung is able to look back upon this year without feeling a suffocating clasp close upon his throat, where the familiar pang in his heart only dulls to thud. Where he learns to realize that he and Jackson were both finding their way, crossing paths and intertwining fingers to accompany each other find each other’s exit. They were both young, and it takes many empty nights for Jinyoung to accept that Jackson was right. In the end, he had loved himself more than the other. Ultimately he wanted to be loved more than love.

 

But it’s okay, Jinyoung figures. Youth is a time for trying, falling, _failing_. A fleet of time that is only left to reminisce what’s already gone. A bitter-sweet _what-if_ that stays until the very end. However wrong, however sad; it’ll lay within a part of Jinyoung’s memories that he recalls with fondness. Because at least, he now knows that it’s okay to try, it’s okay to fall—wounds will heal.  He’ll still be okay, he’ll be stronger.

 

And Jackson remains a work in progress for Jinyoung; though he isn’t sure when he’ll pick up the brush again and add another stroke on the canvas. Perhaps he will, perhaps he won’t. But if he does, Jinyoung figures that this time around, he will be able to do better than last time.

  
  
  
——————————————

[1] _Xiao Ji_ (小鷄) is the romanization for ‘Little Chicken”

[2] _Ge_ (哥), “older brother” in Chinese


End file.
